


Bikini-Ready

by SassyEggs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Let's Get Physical, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-06 14:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10336858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/pseuds/SassyEggs
Summary: Sandor is a personal trainer, Sansa hates exercise, and the Road to physical fitness is extra Rocky





	1. Chapter 1

 

**_30 Days to a Summer Body!_ **

Sansa read the white plastic board planted haphazardly in the grass at the red light and took it as a sign. Well... it _was_ a sign, literally, but also a sign just for her because the timing couldn’t have been better.

Just last weekend she and Margaery had sat down at the computer and planned their annual spring beach trip, a tradition of drunken debauchery running on five years now. It was a blast- they ate lots of food, drank lots of wine, and got lots of attention, but Sansa had noticed early on that- given the choice- guys would always always always go for her best friend first.  It was starting to get old.

The problem was that Margaery was especially curvy in all the right places; Sansa would never have curves like that, but she could make sure that what she DID have was tone and hot as hell, even if that meant slaving away at the gym a few hours a week. There was _no way_ Margaery would look better than Sansa in a bikini.  Not this year.  Not again. 

And so she found herself at Three Dog Fitness, filling out a sherbet-colored form about medical history, activity level, typical diet, strengths and weaknesses, primary and secondary objectives, availability, special requests... So many questions!  But it sounded perfect- 10 sessions, three days apart, 30 days’ worth of personal training and her body would be bikini-ready just in time to hit the beach. 

“So what happens next?” she asked after she handed over her payment.

“We’ll take a look at your info and match you with the trainer best suited for your specific needs, then someone will give you a call to set up a time.”

“Sounds good!”

She returned to the parking lot with a skip in her step, the kind of lightness that came from doing something _good_ for yourself, something healthy and wholesome and responsible.  The feeling only intensified when she spent the next few hours studying, nibbling at a dinner of grilled chicken and steamed vegetables and glass of water with lemon. 

Which meant that overall it was an incredibly productive day and one that deserved a reward. So she celebrated all her hard work with half a pint of Chubby Hubby.

 

\+ + + + +   Session 1  + + + + + 

Sansa had been so eager to get started on her new-and-improved body that when the gym called she requested the earliest available session, giving herself just enough time to change after class then head over to Three Dog Fitness.   Standing in the lobby, waiting for her trainer, she had the same light feeling she’d been having of late, where she was so gosh darn proud of herself for doing the right thing.  This was going to be great.  She would work hard, get healthy, look amazing, and live happily ever after.

“Sansa Stark?”

“That’s mee...” she started, turning around to face that voice, but her cheerful proclamation ended awkwardly and embarrassingly with a “... _eeeeep!”_

The lobby fell morgue-silent, all eyes on her as she looked up up up to the man who had just called her name.

Well, he definitely _looked_ like a personal trainer, clad in a t-shirt and gym shorts, clipboard in hand, but...  the man was almost _overwhelmingly_ large, easily a foot taller than her and seeming so very out-of-place in the bright and cozy lobby.  Near-black hair hung loose to one side, offset by heavy brows and hooked nose, lips pressed hard together, _all_ of it accenting a mass of slick pink scars disfiguring the entire left half of his face. 

Merciful Zeus.

She couldn’t help but gape at him, intimidating as he was. It was just... he was so tall.  And so very wide.  And so... _dark,_ something glowery and mysterious for reasons she couldn’t quite name, something completely unrelated to how he looked.  It _wasn’t_ the scars and it _wasn’t_ his size- it was something in his _eyes_ that got the best of her, dark silver that pierced right through her and sucked the air from her lungs.

“I’m Sandor,” the beast rumbled down at her, holding a hand out for her to shake. “I’ll be training you this month.”

“I’m Sansa,” she squeaked in response. “Sansa Stark.”

She realized her mistake immediately- he already knew her name, he’d literally just said it- and stared for a few too many seconds before blinking the embarrassment away, desperate to recover.

“Shake my hand, Miss Stark.”

“Oh, right,” she mumbled, quickly taking his hand, her tiny arm sticking out of his comically-large fist like a twig. “I’m Sansa.  Sansa Stark.”

_Oh my god, Sansa, shut up!_

Relief swept her when he finally let go of her hand, and that brought a new kind of shame- could she possibly be any ruder to a complete stranger? Her mother would be mortified, would tell her in no un-certain terms that how she was reacting was entirely unacceptable.  And she’d be right.  Sansa looked up quickly to see if he was offended or angry- the gods help her if she got this man angry- but he seemed almost bored by her reaction.  Like he’d seen it too many times to care anymore. 

It was a reassuring but depressing thought, one that only magnified her guilt. But then she took another subtle look at him- bulky arms crossed across an enormous chest, shoulders back and head high, looking down his nose at her... this guy could break her in half.  And judging by the vaguely annoyed glare he was showing her, she kinda thought he wanted to.  This was going to be torture.

“Come with me.”

He turned and stalked away before she could respond and she forced her feet to follow him out onto the gym floor, winding past treadmills and assorted Nautilus machines, all the way to a fortress of pulleys and handles and weights and benches.

“Have a seat,” he said, pointing at one of the benches, setting his clipboard down on a small shelf. She saw then that was _her_ form on his board, decorated in her handwriting, the letters looping and curling and undeniably hers.

“So the thing you want to work on most is...”

He leaned sideways, peering down at the familiar orange form and reading what she had written; he did _not_ read it out loud, thank god, but she knew full well what it said.

_‘Primary objective: lift and define my tiny droopy boobs, hahaha, you’ll see what I mean!’_

“Alrighty then,” he rasped, nonchalant as you please even though Sansa was blushing so hard she thought she might burst into flames. “Let’s get started.”

The session, as it turned out, was just as horrible as she assumed it would be from the moment she laid eyes on him. Not only was he gruff, but he was pushy and demanding and totally uninterested in her opinion.  When she told him the weight was too much, he said no it wasn’t.  When she told him surely that was enough sets, he said no it wasn’t.  And when she reminded him that their time was up, he said no it wasn’t.  Just... argh.  Bossy!  She couldn’t hide her relief when he finally declared the session over and led her back into the lobby.

“So supposedly _,_ your diet consists of lean proteins, fresh produce, lots of whole grains, lots of water.”  He turned his attention from her form to give her a skeptical look.  “No junk food?”

“Not really.

“You’re lying.”

Sansa recoiled; it was a harsh truth and she couldn’t deny it, but... how could he even know? Could he tell just by _looking_ at her?

“Fine,” she relented. “Sometimes I treat myself to a little ice cream.”

“How often is that?”

“Only special occasions, really.”

“Do you have _lots_ of special occasions?”

_Oh my god._

“What are you trying to say?” she demanded hotly but he only shook his head, unbothered by her anger.

“Your secondary objective is to improve overall tone and fitness. That’s what you said.  If you want to reach your goal in 30 days you need to eliminate your biggest weakness, so..... no more ice cream.”

He said it firmly, with a hard look in his eyes that told her _not_ to disobey him, then turned and walked away. 

“Your next session is Saturday at 10,” the young man at the desk smiled and handed her an appointment card. “We’ll see you then.” 

 

\+ + + + +  Session 2  + + + + +

Saturday at 10:30am found Sansa sitting on the couch watching Flip or Flop reruns, eating more-than-a-serving-size of New York Super Fudge Chunk and happily minding her own business, when her doorbell rang.

She squinted suspiciously at the door. No one ever rang that doorbell, not even the occasional Girl Scout or missionary, so... who on earth could it be?  The mailman?  She _had_ ordered a few swimsuits from Victoria’s Secret so maybe that was it, but then she peeped through the window to see who it was and...

_Shit!_

It was her personal trainer. Dammit, what on earth was he doing there?  Wasn’t the fact that she _wasn’t_ at the gym a gigantic hint?  Did she really have to spell it out for the idiot?  There was no point in facing him, either, since she had no intention of ever going back to that infernal place, so she did what people always did when they didn’t want others to know they were home- she held still and waited for him to go away.

“I can see your shadow on the curtains, Miss Stark.”

_Shit!_

The doorbell rang again, which was stupid- he already knew she was there, already knew she knew he was there, so ringing again was something like... harassment? Okay, so that was maybe an exaggeration.  It was still a little weird. 

Actually, it was a _lot_ weird. _He_ was the whack-job for even being there in the first place, so why was she hiding?  What was she so afraid of?  She squared her shoulders and opened the door, giving him the same stern look he was giving her.

“Can I help you?”

“You have a session scheduled for...” He held up his phone to check the time.  “30 minutes ago.”

“Oops, I forgot,” she lied, not very convincingly. “Look, I’ve been _really_ busy studying for exams and I don’t think I’ll be able to do this anymore.  So, thanks for your help but... goodbye.”

“No.”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon.”

“I’m not leaving till you get dressed and get in the car. You have a workout today and you’re not missing it.”

“I’ll miss it if I _want_ to,” she shot back.  Who the hell did he think he was?  She crossed her arms and glared at him, daring him to explain himself but he offered no words at all, just a whisper of paper as he drew that cursed peach-colored form from a black folder and handed it to her. 

“If you’ll just read line number 17 for me, please.”

Sansa balked; she _really_ didn’t want to take that paper.  But obedience had been hammered into her at an early age so she did it anyway, glancing down at line number 17 even though she already vaguely remembered what she’d written.

_‘Biggest weakness- I never stick to any exercise plan so I need someone who will really push me hard, even if that means driving to my house and hauling my lazy ass down to the gym, lol. Not even kidding!’_

Oh... damn him; how dare he use her explicitly-stated instructions against her!

“Get dressed,” he ordered, slipping the form from her hands and back into his folder. “And wipe the chocolate off your mouth.”

Five minutes later she was locking her front door and driving to the gym, him driving right behind her like some sort of creepy psycho stalker. And yeah, she had asked for it, but... she still kinda hated him at that exact moment.  Weirdo. 

He was _so_ _mean._ She told him her muscles were still sore from last time but did he take it easy on her?  Of course not!  He told her it was a _good_ thing, that it meant it was working, and made her do all the same exercises all over again.  So mean! 

“You need to be squeezing some cardio into your schedule,” he rasped in the same irritatingly bossy raspy rasp that was _really_ starting to get on her nerves.  “I’m not gonna waste time making you do it during a session, you can walk or run or swim or bike any time, just get it in somewhere.  Alright?”

“Yeah, okay,” she said, not meaning it.

“Good. Talk to Pod on the way out and I’ll see you in a few days.”

 _“You gotta squeeze some cardio in,”_ she mocked him under her breath as she made her way to the front desk.  What a tool.  Like she wasn’t busy enough, he had to insist she do even more.  “Are you Pod?”

“I am,” said the same young man who always helped her. “You need to schedule your next session?”

“Yeah, and I, um...” She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was around- if _he_ was around- then leaned over the desk and lowered her voice.  “Is there any way I can get a different trainer?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Merciful Zeus is from Buffy :-)
> 
> This isn't really how gym's typically work, even I know that. But... plot.


	2. Chapter 2

\+ + + + +   Session 3   + + + + +

“You should wear something form-fitting, so I can better identify your problem areas.”

“Um... okay,” she agreed meekly, staring down at her shoes, but he grabbed her gently by both arms and _squeezed_ till she looked up at him.

“Tell Pod you want me again, and I’ll see you in three days. Alright, Sansa?” 

“Alright. Thanks, Boros.”

The last part was added as an afterthought- she was _not_ really very thankful but she _was_ always very courteous- and he showed her the same gross leer he’d been showing her the entire time, pleased by her response.

As soon as he released her she headed for the water fountain, desperate for escape. She’d seen Boros around the gym the previous times she’d been in and had already decided he was someone she didn’t want to ever spend time with, so being assigned to him had been more than a colossal disappointment.  He made her uneasy; she didn’t like the way he said her name, didn’t like the way he looked at her, didn’t like the way he put his hands on her and moved her limbs where he wanted them instead of just telling her to do it.  But all of it was right on the cusp of inappropriate and easily explainable as ‘just doing his job,’ and she never was sure where exactly to draw the line.

It wasn’t any one big thing, either, it was a lot of little things that she couldn’t quite put into words. Just thinking about it had so many warning bells clanging inside her head that she didn’t even notice the dark shadow leaning against the wall beside her till she stood up and nearly ran right into him.  And there he was- the man she’d been hoping to avoid (forever, if possible) standing there with his arms crossed and showing her a disapproving look. As usual.

“Good to see you in the gym, Miss Stark.”

"Well I did _pay_ for it,” she answered, matching his dull tone.

“Did you have a good workout with Boros, then?”

That was the rub- not only was Boros creepy, he also kinda sucked at his job. The paces he ran her through weren’t really very difficult, and she had a feeling he was more focused on exercises that would make her bend over than exercises that might actually work her muscles.  That would certainly explain all the stretching he had her do.  Truth be told, the entire session felt like a waste of time.

Not that she would ever admit it.

“Yeah, he’s great,” she lied. “Real nice.” 

“Good. Glad to hear you found someone _nice_ who can help you reach your goals.”

And here she could feel herself blushing, because something in his words meant that he knew full well Boros wasn’t concerned about her goals. And something _else_ in his words meant he wasn’t pleased he’d been replaced by someone so... pathetic.  Part of her got that, could completely understand why he’d be offended; the other part of her just wanted him to go away.

“Look... I don’t think we really meshed,” she explained, waving her hands at him like an idiot. “I mean, like... our personalities... don’t go together, you know?  So... I just think it’s best if we... go our separate ways.”

He glanced down briefly at her moronically flapping hands then back up at her again. “Alright.”

“It’s not personal.”

“How is my personality not personal?”

“You know what I mean,” she huffed. She _knew_ that he knew what she meant and was only giving her a hard time and she was _not_ going to stand for that. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he rasped, pushing away from the wall and looking down his nose at her both literally and figuratively. “I’m used to it.”

“Used to what?”

“ _Everyone_ quits after they get a good look at me.”

Sansa’s jaw fell straight to the floor; he smirked at her affronted expression- the first time he’d shown her anything even remotely like a smile- then turned and strolled away and that was just... _wrong_.  She didn’t switch trainers because of his looks!  She switched trainers because he was annoying and she didn’t really like him!  And yeah, she didn’t really like Boros either (for entirely different reasons, maybe even better reasons) but that didn’t mean she was wrong to switch in the first place and it _definitely_ didn’t mean she did it because of how he looked.

Ooh, the nerve of him, jumping to conclusions like that, and the more she thought about it the more she hated it, hated what he thought of her, _hated_ the way it made her feel about herself.  A complete stranger, and not a very nice one, and here he was assuming and judging her and getting it entirely wrong.  How dare he!

“You need to make your next appointment?” Pod asked brightly after Sansa arrived at the desk.

“Yeah, and uhhhhhh...”

Her words trailed off while she drummed her fingers on the counter, stalling; Pod was watching her, waiting for a response and looking more than a little concerned.

“Miss Stark?”

She groaned. The guilt trip he was sending her on was so blatantly obvious and yet it was working like a damn charm.  And since her mother had already conditioned her to fall for this sort of tactic she supposed the outcome was inevitable, no matter how much she hated it, so she sighed... rolled her eyes... groaned again... and finally bit the bullet.

“Can I switch back to Sandor?”

“Oh,” Pod said, a little surprised. “I, uh... I don’t see why not.”

Sansa laid her head on the counter, defeated, and waited for Pod to set up her next session. He won; he totally won and there was nothing she could do about, all because she’d been so stupidly honest on that damnable orange-colored... wait.

“Hey, can I fill out a new one of those forms?”

 

\+ + + + +   Session 4   + + + + +                                               

Friday afternoon Sansa skipped into Three Dog Fitness, genuinely excited about her workout for the first time in a week.

Truth be told, she was mostly excited about seeing her trainer again, seeing how he reacted to her new set of goals. Cause if he thought she was going down without a fight here he was sadly mistaken.  He may have manipulated her back into his (no-doubt incredibly strong) clutches but she’d been successfully avoiding exercise for 22 solid years now and he would _not_ be winning this war.  

Heading towards the main floor she could see him waiting for her, leaning against the door jamb, arms crossed and clipboard in hand and watching her approach. She hated the way he always crossed his arms.  It was an odd thing to hate, she knew, but it was so obviously meant to intimidate her that she couldn’t help it.

“Hello, Sandor,” she purred, standing in front of him and crossing her own arms to match his; he didn’t react in any way to her greeting- no shifting, no blinking, no look of surprise, just those stone-grey eyes that went right through her.

“So... I have your new membership form.”

“Oh yeah?”

Still no reaction. His jaw was clenched so hard she wondered how his teeth didn’t shatter, his ruined cheek twitching madly, but other than that neither one of them moved a muscle, just two stubborn people staring each other down and wondering which one would look away first.

 _He_ did, she was happy to see, took a breath deep enough to make that huge chest even huger then turned his attention to the clipboard.

“Activity level: extreme.” He paused to give her a sideways glance, showing that same unimpressed expression he always showed her, then went back to the form.  “Typical diet:  nothing but pure clean water.” 

His eyes slid over to her again as if waiting for an explanation but she only lifted her chin a little higher, looking right at his face so he’d know his scars didn’t bother her. Cause they didn’t, not really- it was _him_ that bothered her.  

“Primary objective,” he continued. “Relax and get a good night’s sleep.”

That one had been her favorite and nothing could stop her from smirking now, even as she dug her heels in a little more, ready to fight. Cause she was _so_ ready to fight- she’d spent the last few days preparing for this little confrontation, had practiced a rebuttal for every single argument he could come up with, no matter how many different ways he pleaded with her to just _listen_ to him cause he knew what he was doing.

She should have known better. He didn’t argue at all, didn’t say a word, just held her form out wide to one side as if to show it to her, waited a few seconds... then dumped it straight into the trashcan, clipboard and all.

“Hey!”

“Let’s get started.”

He turned and walked away from her without waiting for a response- without even looking to see if she was following- and her traitorous feet stomped into the gym after him, almost against her will. Worse was how when he pointed at a bench she sat without question, exactly like he wanted her to, though she did it with a huff so he’d know she wasn't happy about it.  He always pointed, she realized, pointed and grunted like a great big stupid _bossy_ caveman who never ever listened and practically dragged her around the gym by her hair.

“Go on, now,” he said after he’d adjusted the weight. “You know what to do.”

She _did_ know what to do- he’d taught her how to use this contraption- but with him watching her and expecting obedience... she had a hard time complying.  Or at least, she wasn’t very _happy_ about complying.  So she reached for the bar dangling over her head, made a half-hearted attempt to pull it down... and immediately gave up.

“It’s too heavy.”

“No it’s not.”

“Uh, _yeah,_ actually, it is.”

“Fine,” he growled and bent to adjust the weights and... oh gods, she _won,_ she actually won a round with him.  It was a meager victory for sure but a victory none-the-less, so when he was done and gave her a nod she had no problem trying again, pulling the bar down easily this time.  “Is that better?”

“Yes, much better.”

“Good. I didn’t even change it.”

The weights clanked back into place and she sunk into sullen silence, no longer willing to cooperate.

“Stop pouting.”

“I’m not.”

She was, and they both knew it. She even _dressed_ like she was pouting, all grey and black and piss-poor attitude, ponytail hanging sloppily off the side of her head so that he would _know_ she wasn’t even trying.

“You asked for this, you know. You _paid_ for this.”

“I’m well aware I paid for it,” she retorted. “Been paying for it ever since I... paid for it.” 

_Dammit._

“Wanna know a trick to make it easier?”

Actually... she didn’t want _anything_ from him, at all, no advice or training or tips or anything and she almost said as much.  But at the same time... if he wanted to tell her how to make it easier she wasn’t going to tell him _not_ to.  She just wasn’t going to _ask_ for it.  Which he must have already figured out, because he continued without waiting for an answer. 

“Try not complaining. For once.  See if that helps.”

“I’m not complaining,” she complained. “I’m... _venting.”_

He snorted. “You can’t do it, can you?”

“Can’t do what?”

 _“Not_ complain.”

And there went her jaw again, straight to the floor. She was stuck and she knew it- complaining would prove him right, _not_ complaining would give him what he wanted, and that smug look on his face had ‘check-mate’ written all over it.  Oh god, what could she do?  How was she supposed to counter this?

She pondered the question in silence through three sets at the lat pull down, mapping out options though none of them were particularly good. She pondered some more through three wordless sets of upper-back lifts on the stability ball which wasn’t even that hard though she always complained about it.  Huh.  Alright, so maybe he was right about her complaining- maybe he was right about _all_ of it- but she couldn’t just let him _win,_ could she?  

It wasn’t until she started her first set of leg abductions that it hit her- she was losing one way or another, so the real question here was... which loss was most beneficial to _her?_

The answer was painfully obvious.

She spent the rest of the session following his instructions without question, doing a lot of inward groaning and forcing herself to look on the bright side. It wasn’t a _bad_ thing that she let him win this.  She _had_ specifically asked for someone to keep her accountable to her own fitness goals and here she was, getting exactly what she wanted, and she should be grateful for that instead of resenting the hell out of him for his efforts.  

And alright, maybe it wasn’t even a bad thing that he pushed her so hard, making her do exercises she hated for longer than the session even lasted. And he told her to work out on her own, told her to stop eating ice cream, basically treated her like... well, like a _body_ , a pile of flesh and muscle and bone that would really like to look smoking hot in a bikini.  It _was_ what she paid him for, after all.   

God, she hated when other people were right. And he _was_ right, she knew it, but she just couldn’t let him off so easy.

“How’d I get stuck with you anyway?” she asked, hoisting dumbbells to each shoulder in turn. He’d told her to do curls till she couldn’t do them anymore and she was determined to surprise him.

“You mean how did _I_ get stuck with _you?”_

“Same thing.”

He hesitated a little longer than seemed necessary, eying her for longer than seemed necessary, and for a moment she thought she’d pushed it too far.

“Bad luck, I guess,” he finally rasped.

“It’s probably because they knew you’d make me quit just as soon as they had my money,” she teased him. “Then they’d have room for your next victim.”

“Yeah, that’s probably it.”

This time she thought she really _did_ push it too far, and not just because it wasn't any fun if he didn't tease her back but because... he’d said people quit all the time after they met him- _she_ had quit after she met him- so standing there and rubbing it in felt especially and suddenly cruel.

“It wasn’t because of how you look, you know,” she started, trying for once to be nice to this man she didn’t even like.

“Yeah, I know.”

The curls she’d been doing slowed.

“You do?”

“Sure. Everyone quits after a session with me.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, growing suspicious. “After they get a good look at you.  That’s what you said.”

“It's after they get a good look at me, sure.  But it’s _because_ they don’t like me.” 

The dumbbells fell to her sides, forgotten.  Oh god- he’d _played_ her.  And she’d _let him_ play her, like a fiddle since day one.  She wasn’t at all certain how he knew it would work- how he knew _what_ would work- yet he’d still managed to get her in the gym, get her back on track for her goals, get her to stop complaining and focus... wow, he was _really_ good at this.  She couldn’t even be mad about it, she was too impressed.

Not that she would ever tell him that.

“You run off every single person you’ve ever trained?” He nodded at her- slowly, like she bored him.  “How many came back?”

It was a simple question, and it required a simple answer.  So she didn’t know _why_ her heart jumped like that when he said-

“Just one.”


	3. Chapter 3

 

\+ + + + + Session 5 + + + + +

“I never see Boros around.”

“Miss him?”

“Definitely not,” she grumbled. “Just... I was kinda worried about running into him, but he’s never here.  So I was curious.”

“He doesn’t work here anymore,” he said after a few seconds, busily pulling pins on a barbell and swapping out weights while she stood there watching and not complaining.

“He doesn’t?” she asked; Sandor shook his head.  “Why not?”

“Ah... he was new, on probation while he was evaluated. Guess the owner didn’t think he really ‘meshed’ with the culture.  I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

Sansa nodded quickly even though he wasn’t looking at her; blabbing about personnel issues to a customer was no doubt a violation of some sort of policy so she understood where he was coming from. What she _didn’t_ understand was how he even knew why the man was gone, but maybe the reason was just obvious- Boros _didn’t_ really fit in there, even Sansa could tell that.     

“Can’t say I’m sorry to see him go.”

“Me neither,” he agreed and motioned for her to begin.

There was no one else in the free-weights section so he had her doing squats in front of a mirror, determined to work on her ‘horrific form.’ It sounded good, in theory, but... it was impossible to look cool doing squats, especially since she was already really bad at it, so seeing her wobbly self awkwardly maneuver the barbell was a humbling experience.  Worse was how he stood behind her, arms crossed and watching like a judgmental hawk, so by the time she finished her first set she was already on edge.  

“You’re too loose,” he told her just as he’d told her a million times before.

“I know.”

“Your knees keep turning out.”

“I know.”

“And your elbows...”

“I _know,_ Sandor.”

It was a little louder than necessary, a little harsher than necessary, but she wasn’t sorry. Even with the tense silence now growing between them she wasn’t sorry; he _deserved_ it.  When she finally peeked up at him his hands were on hips and he was giving her the same disapproving scowl Septa Mordane used to give her and... alright, maybe she was a little sorry.  And alright, fine, maybe he _didn’t_ deserve it.  She glanced at the clock; 30 more seconds before she could do her next set.

“What kind of name is Sandor anyway?” she asked his reflection, hoping to smooth over the tension.

“It’s Hungarian.”

“You’re Hungarian?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

She waited for him to expand on that thought, mention a distant family member or obsolete heritage or mother’s favorite movie star or hidden meaning or _something,_ but... nope.

“Okay. Good to know.  Fun talk.”  She showed him two very weak, very sarcastic thumbs-up, then bent to reach for the barbell again. 

“What kind of name is Sansa?” he rasped behind her. “Your mom make it up?”

Well, that just surprised the hell out of her. Especially since when she glanced up at him in the mirror she saw his mouth twisted like he was fighting a smile, lips pressed into a line and cheek twitching and... it wasn’t so bad.

“As a matter of fact...” she smirked at him, but this exchange of personal information was having an odd effect on her. Which was silly; it was just _names._

“It’s a family name,” she told him over her shoulder, adjusting her grip on the bar then hoisting it up as fluidly as possible, doing her best to keep her core tight and knees in. But instead of watching her own (truly horrific, he wasn't wrong about that) form her eyes wandered to what the mirror was showing her, what she’d never noticed before.

The hands he’d had on his hips reached up over his head for a bar like he did sometimes but there was no bar there. For a heartbeat he floundered, but then he moved like he was going to lean against the wall (he did that sometimes too) but again, there was nothing there, so he settled into his usual position, arms drifting up and crossing his extremely large chest.

_He doesn’t know what to do with his hands._

It was so _obvious_ now; what she had thought was a tactic to look as mean and judgmental as possible had in truth been nothing but a nervous tic.  It was... kinda cute, actually- almost adorable- and she couldn’t help but huff a small laugh at the discovery.

“What’s funny?”

She shook her head, eyes back on her own reflection.

“Nothing.”

 

\+ + + + + Session 6 + + + + +

She started walking, every day. When that got boring she started running.  When _that_ got boring she started swimming, afternoons spent in her apartment complex’s pool but at least it was too chilly for anyone else to be there.  She never went into the gym for her cardio, though, not even when it rained; she couldn’t risk him thinking she was willingly following his directions when he wasn’t around to force her.

The sessions were getting easier, too, and not just because she didn’t complain, and not just because he seemed sort of nice now, but because she was already noticing the differences in her body. Her jeans were just a bit more comfortable, the stairs she climbed to class got a little easier, and when she hoisted her bookbag over her shoulder she noticed her bicep bulging for the first time ever.  It all made her want more- more exercise, more time in the gym, more _results._

“What’s that thing?” she asked, motioning to a gigantic blue spider web. “I never see anyone on it.”

“Cause it’s dumb and useless.”

“Can we try it?”

“I _just said_ it was dumb and useless.”

“Okay, but... we never do anything different and it’s getting kind of boring.”

“This is your _fifth session_ with me, you’re bored already?”

She didn’t answer. Because truthfully, she _was_ a little bored already though she couldn’t just say that without offending him.  It wasn’t _him_ that she found boring, after all, it was just... the same exercises every single time with no variations whatsoever. _Borrrring!_

“Alright, I guess we can try something different,” he grumbled and she had to hide her smile, the skip in her step when he led her into a new part of the gym.

The move he showed her felt a little ridiculous though she couldn’t deny that it was effective- she’d lift a medicine ball almost over her head then throw it *thud* into the mat at her feet. Never would she have guessed this was a legitimate exercise but the more she did it the more she felt it burning, deep in the muscles across her chest, so... maybe he actually knew what he was doing.

“What’s this called?” *thud*

“Medicine ball slams,” he answered, scribbling something on his clipboard.

_How creative._

“And this will help lift my...” her question trailed off, unfinished. *thud*  Which was silly!  He knew full well what she was asking, not saying the words only made her sound like a child.  So she cleared her throat and tried again, confident this time.  “This will help lift my bust?”  *thud*

“Your bust is fine,” he rasped with a slow shake of his head, as casually as if they were discussing the weather and not at all like he was talking about her breasts. Sansa gently lifted the ball to eye-level and slammed it into the mat *thud* the last rep in the set. 

Huh... he was talking about her breasts.

“My bust is _fine?”_ she echoed back at him, drawling her words slowly, slyly.  “Fine as in ‘needs improvement?’  Or fine as in ‘they’ll do?’”

“Just... fine,” he smirked, mouth twisting, cheek twitching, eyes _hot_.

“Well. If that’s your _professional_ opinion...”

She finished her sets in contented silence, trying not to smile, trying not to blush, trying not to let it go to her head. It wasn’t the _biggest_ compliment she’d ever received, that was for sure, yet it stayed with her for the rest of the session, the rest of the day, long after she’d showered and dressed and eaten.  She couldn’t even put her finger on what exactly pleased her; all she knew for certain was that his words felt... _really_ good. 

So she did what every red-blooded young woman did when her personal trainer says her bust is fine.

She went shopping.

 

\+ + + + + Session 7 + + + + +

Retail therapy had been exactly what she needed after all her work in the gym and the classroom, all her _achievements_ in the gym and the classroom.   It was an organic high that had her buzzing around the mall three nights ago when she picked out some plain black yoga capris from Old Navy, a banging new sports bra from Victoria’s Secret... and a small order of strawberry Dippin’ Dots.    

Inspecting herself in the mirror before her next session, she was pleased with what she saw. The bottoms came up close but not quite to her belly-button, hanging snuggly on her hips and making her look... a little curvy.  The bra was damn near demure compared to the other bras in Victoria’s Secret but still looked incredible, the coral color complementing her pale skin and the whole thing accentuating the parts that needed accentuating.  But the best part of her reflection was the shape of her shoulders, the leanness in her arms, the definition in her stomach that didn’t used to be there; the guys on the beach weren’t going to know what hit them.  So after doing her hair in a quick and messy French braid she added just a touch of lip gloss, gave herself one last appraising look, and drove to the gym. 

Sansa was a head-turner, everyone said so. Being above-average in the looks department, young and tall and almost always dressed to impress, she’d long ago gotten used to the feeling of eyes on her.  But nothing prepared her for the way people reacted to her new gym clothes, men and women alike snapping to attention the moment she wandered into Three Dog Fitness.  It was a promising start, though she did have to remind herself to keep the swagger out of her step- she might look damn hot, but her only motivation had been to dress for a workout, that’s all, nothing more.

If that was true, though, then what was she so excited about? Why was she just a bit nervous about stepping into the gym when she’d strolled around the beach in far less?  And what was up with that ripple of _something_ in her belly when his eyes landed on her, widened just a little... then quickly flicked away? 

“Let’s get started,” he muttered, and got right down to business-as-usual.

He was remarkably quiet the entire session, and far less growly, and he didn’t watch her as much as he usually did which felt like a victory as much as a defeat. What made it feel that way, though, she could not say, especially since his constant supervision was something that she often wished he’d ease up on.  Now instead of critiquing her form he just looked past her, through her, over her head, whatever it took to never actually look _at_ her, and it was somehow worse than the times when he wouldn’t _stop_ looking at her. 

Well, as long as he was _ignoring_ her she figured it was a good time to take control of her workouts, heading to a new machine before he’d tell her to and adjusting the weights in the same way he always did.  At first he seemed a little put out by it but eventually ceded control; which was good- she’d be doing this all on her own soon enough- but it also meant they didn’t really have anything to talk about, no reason to say a single word to each other. And so they _didn’t_ say a single word to each other.  Combine that with the fact that he couldn’t even look at her and she was starting to regret every decision she’d made that day.   

“What’s your tattoo?” she asked, just to break the silence. Okay, not just to break the silence- she’d noticed his tattoo peeking from below his sleeve since the very first session and had finally become curious enough to ask.  He didn’t even hesitate when she asked though he still wouldn’t look at her, just did that tight-lipped smirk thing he’d been doing a lot lately and lifted his sleeve so she could see - three black dogs, all in a row. 

She recognized it immediately; it was the very same logo that was plastered all over the gym.

“You must really like it here,” she laughed.

“Yeah, I guess I do,” he agreed, amused for unknown reasons. “ _One_ of us has to.”

“I like it here,” she told him; it was important to her that he know that.

“You wouldn’t even be here if I didn’t drag you in myself. Slacker.”

“I’m not a slacker.” It was important he know that as well. “I’m actually a _very_ disciplined individual.  It’s just that everyone has a weakness and fitness is mine.” 

“Fair enough.”

“At least I’m _doing_ something about it.” 

“I _said_ fair enough.”

The shoulder presses were easier today though she wasn’t sure if that was because she was so amazingly fit now or if she’d accidentally set the weight too low, but... she couldn’t remember if it was supposed to be 35 or 45. And she couldn’t just _ask_ him; not when she was trying to be in charge here. 

She went with 35, cause keeping it easy meant she could stay focused on her form... _so_ focused that she didn’t even notice the way his eyes had slid down over her body till she finished her set and looked up at him, watched him till he realized how very busted he was for staring and shifted his gaze away.  

 _Now_ it felt like a victory.

“What’s yours?”

“My what?” he asked, still not looking at her.

“Your weakness?”

 _Inappropriately-dressed redheads?_ she guessed, knowing it was true even if he wouldn’t admit it.  Or at least... she _thought_ it was true.  And she didn’t _think_ he would admit it.  But then he looked at her- _really_ looked at her- dark eyes tracing her in a way that made every hair stand on edge, every molecule scream _holy shit._ She couldn't be misreading that, could she?  It was _obvious_ what he meant, so very clear in the way he uncrossed those huge arms, the way he took two impossibly slow steps towards her... bent down to her... leaned over her.... reached _past_ her... and bumped the weight up 10 more pounds.

“I don’t have one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone knows that Sandor is a Dutch name ;-)


	4. Chapter 4

 

\+ + + + +  Session 8  + + + + +

The hot new workout clothes she’d purchased rotted in the hamper, forgotten, and by the time her next session rolled around they positively reeked. No way could she wear them now- the thought of anyone wrinkling their nose and wondering what that smell was had her shrugging into a faded blue t-shirt that was not at all sexy.  Which was appropriate- she was already _feeling_ not at all sexy.

“Can we take it easy today? My back kinda hurts.”

If she was being completely honest she would say she fully expected him to ignore her complaint, tell her to suck it up, to embrace the pain or feel the burn or whatever it was athletes said to each other; instead his expression fell into one of genuine concern.

“Hurts how?”

“Uh... it feels like a... a pinch?”

“Where?”

She turned and pointed- halfway up her back and slightly off center- to the place on her body where she’d been experiencing the pain, assuming he was asking out of curiosity and nothing more. She never expected him to _do_ anything about it, to run his thumb firmly over the area she’d indicated then gingerly rest his entire enormous hand against her.  Results were instant, the warmth of his palm seeping into her muscles and making them relax, melting the pain away, but it also started a riot inside her when she realized that- aside from that awkward handshake- this was the first time he’d ever touched her.  And... it wasn’t so bad like this, with his hand on her, fingers sliding down her spine and soothing her, not lingering any longer than necessary and totally appropriate.  A little too appropriate.  Almost _insultingly_ appropriate.  How did he handle her with such efficiency when what she was feeling was a confusing amount of unprofessionalism?

”Better?” he rasped against her ear, deeper than usual and doing all sorts of horrible things to her blood pressure.

“Yeah,” she sighed and oh god, that was way too sultry. Regroup!  “Can we still take it easy today?”

“No.”

He absolutely did not take it easy on her but she did not complain, and not just because she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. How could she complain when he gave her exercises that avoided too much strain on her back, choosing instead to work her legs and arms?  If he thought she didn’t notice that, he was wrong.

And the truth was, she wouldn’t have complained anyway since workouts were starting to be... kinda fun. It was remarkable, this new energy coursing through her, the way a little exercise made her feel so powerful and strong, but there was also an unfortunate downside- she’d leave the gym agitated for reasons she wasn’t ready to think about.  That didn’t _stop_ her from thinking about it, of course, her mind cluttered with visions of muscles and skin, of sweaty bodies moving both together and separately, and she’d end up wound tight for hours afterwards and no idea how to cope with all the tension.    

“You should take a cold shower.”

“What?” she half-whispered, half-wheezed.

“For the pain. Should have told you before, cold showers help with vasoconstriction, which helps with muscle recovery, which helps the pain.  Worth a shot.”  

“Uh-huh, okay, I’ll try that,” she agreed quickly, unable to meet his eyes. “See ya in three.”

Making her way to the judgment-free sanctuary of the front desk, she couldn’t help but wonder if _he_ ever needed a cold shower after their sessions.   _Oh God, Sansa, don’t think about it._

“Hi Pod,” she called out, resting her arms on the counter. “I’m not available during the day on Saturday, is there any way I can come at night?”

“Let me look,” he smiled and turned to his computer, tapping away at the keyboard and examining the options. “You want Sandor, don’t you?”

“What?!” Sansa squeaked, horror-struck. “No!  Of course not!  Why would you say that?  My goodness, how can you even _think_ that, he’s just my trainer!”

Pod’s eyebrows crawled up so high on his face they nearly disappeared into his hair.

“I _meant_ as a trainer.”

“Oh,” she blushed. “Yeah, he’s... adequate.” 

Moments later when Pod wordlessly handed her an appointment card she took it without looking at it, then scurried out into the parking lot and home to the soothing comfort of a freezing cold shower.

 

\+ + + + +  Session 9  + + + + +

Coming at night turned out to be a mistake, even though she still got to work with Sandor since he was somehow working late that day. Instead of the usual demographics of men and women of all ages, now Three Dog Fitness was crawling with young men, _raucous_ young men in muscle shirts who monopolized all the weight machines and preened around like they owned the place.  And they kept _looking_ at her, circling around her, shouting out their achievements in the kinds of attention-seeking antics that made her wish she’d worn shabby sweatpants and three t-shirts instead of a sports bra. 

She’d seen this type of behavior before. On Animal Kingdom.

“Nights are terrible,” she complained after some rando lumbered past with every muscle fully flexed just for the hell of it. “Too many dudes.”

Sandor raised a brow. “Dudes?”

“Well... _look_ at them.”

He did, turned his head to the right to eyeball a group of men in the free weights section, grunting and roaring and occasionally punching each other in some primitive form of encouragement. He looked to his left where other men were lingering around the leg press machine, waiting their turn and arguing much louder than could possibly be necessary about which one of them had the best car.  He looked back to her, just in time for another man to swagger between them with weights dangling from his _head._

“Yeah, they’re dudes,” he agreed, making her laugh.

After the hamstring curls they moved on to shoulder presses, some of the dudes migrating along with them and settling onto nearby machines. She ignored them, just began the exercise, extending her arms over her head and breezily slipping into a new topic of conversation.

“Is Pod single?” she asked, watching him; she’d practiced this in her head, crafted every word to be as loaded as possible just to see how he’d react, but he didn’t so much as blink.

“You’d have to ask him yourself.”

“Oh no, I could never do that.”

_Ask me why not. Ask me ask me ask me ask me why not._

“He might think I’m interested,” she explained even though he hadn’t asked her to. “And I’m not.  I’m asking for my sister.”

She did two more reps while she waited for him to respond but he was not picking up what she was putting down. She’d have to go a little off-script here.

“She’s nothing like him. He’s real friendly and considerate and she’s... neither one of those things.”

Two more reps and still no comment.

“But sometimes that works out for people, to be different.” Another rep.  “It’s like they balance each other out.  Sometimes.” 

She finished the last rep in the set, lowering the weights back down to the starting position but not releasing the handles, then cautiously looked up for his reaction.

“If you can talk this much while you’re lifting then it’s not heavy enough.”

She hid her grimace when he bent to adjust the weight, willing her expression to be as blank and bored as his was and telling herself she may as well not speak, not ever again. She was just about to start another set when one of the dudes- one of the _loudest_ of the dudes- wandered up to Sandor’s side.

“Hey man, can you spot me?”

“I’m busy.”

“It’s just for a minute.”

“I’m with a client right now.”

“I see that.” He turned and looked at her- hard, but not in the eyes- and showed a leering grin that was not meant for her.  “Let me know when you’re done with her and I get a turn.”

There was absolutely no mistaking his meaning, even if she wanted to. And boy did she ever want to.  It was just so unbelievably degrading to be talked about that way, right to her face, like she was nothing.  Like she was a toy to be passed around to whatever dude happened to be interested, a _thing_ that only existed for his entertainment. 

And there was no way he thought that line would score him a date, either, which meant he only said it to embarrass her, to act like Mr. Cool, knowing she had little option but to sit and fume. Like she was currently doing.  Sandor, though... he had turned fully to face the little man, his whole enormous body tense, arms slowly unfolding and hands curling into fists, and when he spoke it was with a fury that Sansa had never heard before, not ever.

“Apologize.”

“What?” the dude laughed nervously, his ears turning red. “I was just joking!”

No one moved, no one said anything, the only sound in the place coming from the steady hum of distant treadmills. Sandor repeated himself; she couldn’t hear him this time but recognized the way his lips moved when he said the word: 

_Apologize._

The guy rolled his eyes but didn’t respond and Sansa took a moment to examine him- the golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes, the broad shoulders and perfect little dimples... and the sour expression that ruined it all. If he had smiled at her on the street she would have thought he was handsome; if he had asked her out, she might have said yes.  Instead he’d shown what kind of man he really was, and even now with the chance to make it right he clung to his assholiness, more concerned with putting on a good show for his friends.  Mr. Cool to the bitter end.  When he finally turned to address her it was in a manner that indicated he thought she was being unreasonable.

“Sorry,” he huffed sarcastically. “I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful.”

“Yes you were.”

She hadn’t meant to challenge him- she was usually the one to calm everyone down, not the one to stoke the fire- but his apology had been so very false she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t even have a second to regret it, though, cause the dude’s eyes flashed in anger, lip curled into a sneer.

“Cunt.”

What happened next was like something from a movie, Sandor moving lightning-fast to grab Mr. Cool by the back of his shirt then carry him out like the garbage he was.

“Hey! Hey, lay off, man!  What the fuck?”

It was sadly predictable that the guy didn’t go down without a fight, thrashing ineffectively and yelling till he couldn’t be heard anymore. For several long moments everyone watched the retreating commotion, a little dumbstruck, then one by one every set of eyes turned in her direction.  Sansa quickly started another set, needing to do something, focusing on her form and _not_ all the dudes that were staring at her.

By the time Sandor came back everything had returned to almost normal, all the gym-goers resuming their previous posturing but much quieter now. They were probably afraid of drawing his attention, afraid they might get similarly hauled out of there and receive the same punishment.  Whatever that was.  She glanced up at her personal trainer, the rage still simmering in him, the tension... oh god, she hoped he hadn’t hurt the guy.

“What’d you do?”

“Revoked his membership.”

“Really?” she asked brightly. A little too brightly, perhaps, but... that was so much better than she imagined!  And it was a perfectly appropriate punishment for a man like that, who didn’t know how to be around women without acting like a dick.  Hell, he probably thought he was flirting.  And maybe it _was_ flirting.  Maybe that guy just didn’t know how to talk to girls.  Maybe he wasn’t even a bad guy.  Maybe he was just having a bad day and lashed out and here she was rejoicing that he’d just publicly and permanently humiliated himself.  “Oh, I’m a terrible person.”

Sandor laughed at that, deep and throaty and still somehow without smiling, and she didn’t really feel so terrible about it anymore.

 

\+ + + + +  Session 10  + + + + +

The final session ran longer than the appointed time, as usual, though it seemed to fly by and before she knew it they were standing at a small table by the very same intimidating machine he’d started her on 27 short days ago.

“I made a plan for you to follow. It’s progressive, so you can’t just skip something, you have to go in order.  And if you wait too long between workouts you’ll have to start over.  Got it?”

“Yeah, thanks,” she said, flipping through the booklet of neon yellow pages he’d given her, each with a calendar-like grid marked for exercise and rest, reps and sets; something about the neat and angular letters seemed just like him. “You handwrote all of this?  Why didn’t you just type it?”

“Typing isn’t really easy for... some people.” He waved his great big Hungarian fingers at her so she’d know what he meant.

“Ah. It’s okay, everyone has a weakness.”

He met her smirk with one of his own- the closest thing he did to a smile- and heat bloomed deep in her stomach. He had another weakness, didn’t he?  He had hinted as much once.  Hadn’t he?  And if she wanted to parlay his (maybe) weakness into something more then now was the time, cause after this she’d have no reason to speak to him, not ever again.    

“So, ummm... I was thinking of getting some ice cream. Sort of a celebration of all my hard work the past 30 days.”

“Ice cream is _so bad_ for you,” he shook his head and her spirits plummeted, stung by his rejection. 

“Well... yeah, I know. That’s why I only have it on special occasions.”

“You haven’t had _any_ ice cream in 30 days?”

His arms were crossed as always, judgmental expression firmly in place as he looked down his nose at her with one skeptical brow raised; she knew right away that the jig was up.

“Alright, I may have had a little ice cream.”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Fine!” she snapped, throwing her hands up in frustration. “No ice cream.  Drinks?  You wanna go get drinks?  Maybe some healthy, calorie-free drinks, like... water?  Wanna go get some _water_ with me?  We could just walk down the hall to the fountain, if you like.  That’ll be great fun.”

It wasn’t exactly the most mature thing she’d ever done and that alone was enough to humiliate her. Worse, though, was how his expression rolled from surprise to confusion to amusement, back to surprise again, over and over with every word that tumbled out of her stupid mouth, and somewhere along the line she realized that she never even _asked_ him if he wanted to go with her for ice cream. 

Oops.

She ducked her eyes, hoping the earth would open up and swallow her whole and she’d never have to think about this ever again. But then he took two steps towards her, bending down so she could hear him while his hands went to the brackets of the machine over her head cause he never did know what to do with them.

“I’ll get ice cream with you, if you want. We can work off those calories later.”

His voice was soft and raw, warm sand washing over her and igniting something that had been simmering for weeks now, and she knew with absolute certainty that if she looked up into his eyes at that moment he would see all the lewd little thoughts lurking in her mind.

She looked anyway.

“Okay.”

 

+++++++++++++++

Sansa licked traces of chocolate from her lips, almost entirely satisfied with this date. If it even counted as a date.  Did dates usually start at the gym and last for five hours? 

It had just been so _different_ being with him on her own terms, on her own turf, even if the turf in question had been located in a Baskin Robbins.  But it opened the door for something a little more like conversation and she got to learn more about him, like how old he was (33) and how he used to be in the military (Army) and how he hailed from the westerlands but was happier there in the north. 

And she learned that Three Dog Fitness was _his_ gym and that was why he was always there; not just because he liked it so much but because it was his business and he was personally vested in it being a success.  Which it would be, she said; it was only a matter of time.

“How do you know that?” he asked her, amused but not smiling.

“Cause you’re good at it. You got _me_ exercising and I don’t even like you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” she sighed and rolled her shoulders back so that his eyes would drift down to her (apparently totally fine) bust. “I even let you convince me to work off all that ice cream.” 

“Well, I _meant_ we would work off the calories in the _gym.”_

“Did you?”

 _Did_ he?  Considering what she knew about him so far she supposed it was entirely possible.  But that was hours ago, before she’d plied him with a pint of Rocky Road, before she’d fed him just a spoonful of her lemon sorbet, before he’d leaned over and kissed her right there at the flimsy table they were sharing.  So now that she was straddling him, their hips rolling almost lazily together and his hands finding some new purpose to occupy them... she didn’t think he minded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading, hope you had fun with it and that it inspired you to either do some exercise or eat some ice cream or (hopefully) both. Because you've EARNED it. Much love to you all, have a happy spring!


End file.
